


Singing Lesson

by Night_Panther_13



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Adorable, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Massage, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 04:53:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14634521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Panther_13/pseuds/Night_Panther_13
Summary: A super fluffy story about Christine and Erik/Christine and how they are both adorable nerds.





	Singing Lesson

I ran my hand through the chiffonier searching for the white pointe shoes. It was hard balancing the wardrobe being a ballerina and an occasional prima donna. The white night gown hung loose around my form as bent down searching under the dresser. A crisp cool wind blew into the small room blowing out the candelabra. I abandoned the hunt for the shoe and stood to find the source in the room lit dimly by a gas lamp.   
“Your voice is indeed enchanting Miss Daaé,” A rich voice announced. “Are you ready for your next lesson?”  
“Of course my angel of music,” I smiled. “But it is quite late.”  
“I now realize that,” He apologized. “The clock did not chime very loudly and I was unaware of the time. It is very hard to tell down there.”  
“That’s why you seem tired,” I commented. “You can’t tell when to sleep, or eat for that matter.”  
“It’s isn’t all that bad,” He returned. “I don’t miss that performances. For that I am punctual.” I nodded in agreement and quickly slipped my feet into some casual shoes. The shadowy figure held out his hand graciously. I looked about me once more and followed behind him. We passed through the mirror and down through the narrow passageway lined with candles. All that was heard was the tapping of my feet against the stone. Somehow this strange spirit made no sound with his movement. He was all swift graceful motions, well practiced and precise. Whether that be his thin long fingers dancing over a piano or violin, his swift run as his cloak bellowed about him, or even just the small wrist movement of reaching out his hand.   
“Mademoiselle,” He politely said helping me into the boat. I steadied myself and sat down. We crossed the lake barely making a sound or ripple in the smooth glassy water. The velvety shadows about each flame danced across the obsidian like liquid. I reached my hand into the cold water watching the way it curved around my fingers. As we turned I reached out to feel one of the marble pillars. Everything was pristine in this palace of music. We had made it about halfway when my silent companion blew out a low whistle soft and steady. It bounced along the cavern walls and surrounded me. It swirled like the fog hovering over the lake. Effortlessly we turned around the final bend. Gliding gently we hit the other side of the shore. I was careful not to fall into the abyss of water as I got out of the skiff. I walked aimlessly about the main room. I traced my hand over the organ and look at the assortment of instruments in the glass case against the wall. A gorgeous violin was in the center of them with bows lined up next to it. A flute case was on a shelf and small silver bell. With these few things my angel composed music fit for heaven. His genius sprung alive on these tools. Why the conductor could barely improvise his own line of music and he had one of the most talented orchestras at his disposal. It baffled me.   
“Sing,” The phantom commanded. I couldn’t think for that moment and began to belt out in the usual fashion of his lesson. He clenched his fist and stared into my soul with those bright burning eyes. As if by magic I corrected my tone and could more easily hold the note. He truly was a mystical spirit of song.   
“Sing!” He announced. I tried my best to keep my voice steady as it went through the chords. “Rest.” I stopped short. “What opera is in my theater’s near future?”  
“I believe Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s “The Snow Maiden” is playing soon,” I responded.  
“Hmm,” He contemplated. “Nikolai Andreyevich Rimsky-Korsakov. It’s a rather new piece. I believe you have the right to play the lead.”  
“Oh I don’t think I could,” I shyly murmered. “I am not that good of a singer myself. Carlotta can hit very impressive notes monsieur. She seems quite set on this role. Piangi would also be upset.” He moved to his desk and wrote out a note.  
“Carlotta sounds like a dying bird just barely screeching it’s tune,” Erik commented. “And Piangi would throw a fit anyway. No I am quite convinced. You my dear told me you are Swedish, correct?” I nodded yes but was puzzled. “Sweden has many stories of the dark north and it’s mythical creatures. Well that opera is about just that. You could match the setting completely. Senora Carlotta is a foolish Spanish thing. This is most likely the farthest north she could ever reach.”  
“Oh Erik please I don’t need you to write anything to the managers,” I said. He folded the note and stuffed it into a yellowing envelope. He took a chunk of red wax and sealed the envelope. He stamped it with a skull. He put a hand on my arm silencing my worries and complaints.   
“I want to go through some songs while I deliver this to Madame Giry,” He ordered. He seemed to float as he leaped into the little boat carrying the letter. I watched as he began his journey over the water. “Sing!”  
“Yes,” I squeaked. I sat down on the divan and sang freely. I wasn’t really sure what he expected of me so I sang one of the songs my father so loved. It was a lullabye he sang to me on stormy days when white hot lightning flashed across the sky searing crops and fields. The bright light brought growling angry thunder. Back then I wanted nothing more than to hid under the blankets as father sang his sweet melodies. Raoul would insist on stories of murderous goblins to frighten me more but I knew different stories would calm me. The angel of music. I had asked father if he knew the angel of music or perhaps he was the angel. He would smile and tell me he was only a fiddler. The angel was a creature or man that brought the most beautiful sounds with him. The angel works alone for no has ever seen him. As my heart soared through the song I knew the angel of music was with me. He had brought me here.  
I do not know when I had fallen asleep but I opened my eyes into a great darkness. Many of the candles and lamps had been blown out. Listening quietly I heard someone moving around in a room I didn’t know existed. I craned my neck to see what he was doing. Looking through the crack in the door I saw a bedroom. I was puzzled for I knew his own chambers were through the kitchen. He often forgot sheets of music and items there. This new room was small and luxuriously decorated. A vanity was on one side near a small fireplace. Cinders popped and sparked as though someone recently lit it. The side nearest me held a bookshelf and a chiffonier were the phantom was grabbing something large. In the center of the room was a four poster bed. It was bare except some silk covered pillows. They were white and a blush colored pink. The large basket which the phantom struggled with finally broke free and landed in his arms. He removed pink silk sheets from it and placed them on the bed carefully. After he was pleased with his work he moved to the door. Whether it was fear of discovery or curiosity I fell limp feigning sleep. Through lightly closed eyes I watched him come closer. I tried to slow my breathing to make it seem as if I was sleeping. He bent down and scooped me up into his arms careful not to jolt me. I was flimsy hoping he couldn’t tell I was awake. I was immensely curious. He carried me to the room. He gently laid me down on the bed and put the sheet over me. I thought he was about to leave when he bent down over me as if to kiss my forehead. Seeming to decide against it he gingerly pet my cheek. His cold fingers shocked me and I flinched. He quickly pulled his hand away like he had hurt me. His eyes held such sadness that I wanted to spring awake and apologize and explain why I flinched. “It was only that your touch was cold!” I would say. But I couldn’t do that for it would be even more odd. I flinched again hoping it would appear that I was simply restless. That it wasn’t his fault. He furrowed his brow and removed his cloak in a swift movement. He wrapped it around me and moved away from the bed not trying to wake me. He left the room silently and disappeared through the kitchen. I was exhausted and try as I may I fell once more into slumber.   
It had barely been an hour before I was awoken again. This time by a blood curdling shriek. I jumped out of the the soft warm bed and looked about in terror. A second scream seem to echo from the chimney. A third cry was heard through the fireplace and was followed by the menacing laughter of Joseph Buquet. Terrified of the sounds from above I tore out of the room. Madly I dashed through the kitchen the the only other light source in the lair. Erik sat up in his own bed at the sound of my footsteps. I ran into his arms and clung to him like he was a lifeline.   
My breathing was heavy and I couldn’t find my voice. I tightly closed my eyes and buried my face into the crook of his neck searching for comfort. He was stunned and although I could only see half his face it was blushing.   
“What is wrong Christine?” He asked hesitantly putting his arms around me.   
“Screams,” I whimpered. “Awful echoing screams.” I said all this without looking up at him.  
“I heard no screams,” He assured.  
“They came from the fireplace,” I told. “I’m going mad!”  
“Do not worry Christine,” He said almost laughing. “The fireplace is connect to the one in the opera house's lounge. It was just Buquet scaring poor ballerinas. It seems he got to this ballerina pretty bad.” I nodded in agreement. Erik didn’t know how to handle the situation because I refused to let go of him. His face very red and him breaking into nervously laughter he relaxed back into the pillows.   
“Wouldn’t you rather go back to your room?” He asked waveringly.  
“No I’m frightened,” I said nuzzled closer to him. He submitted to my wishes and let me fall asleep like that. Listening to the gentle beat of his pulse.   
The clock chimed seven as I awoke. My angel was nowhere in sight. I slid out of the bed and padded across the cold stone floor. The angel was writing on a sheet of music making revisions.  
“Christine?” He asked. “Ah your awake. You may change or do whatever else you may do in your mornings before I bring you back for rehearsal.”  
“Ah yes,” I said absent mindedly.   
“You do not look to well,” He observed. “Maybe you should take a warm bath before breakfast.”  
“That sounds lovely,” I politely smiled.  
“Whatever you may need are through there,” He said pointing to the “haunted” bedroom. I went in feeling foolish for being childish last night. Neatly laid out were a satin bathrobe, a newly bought blue day gown, an assortment of soaps and oils, and a hairbrush. I took the pile of things and headed to the bathroom. Warm water filled the porcelain tub. Steam rose from the surface. I lowered myself into the tub with a sigh. It was a rather relaxing calm place. As nearly everywhere in this hidden kingdom it was lit by candles which gave off a peaceful ura. Soon I smelled like rose. Bubbles surrounded me. I slowly cleaned my smooth skin and was shiny with the soap. As it was his favorite pastime the phantom’s music seeped through the rooms. It caused a sense of bliss nothing else could. I was floating on a cloud surrounded by angel’s hymns. I drained the tub and put on the soft chiffon robe. I left all my things on the counter and quietly slipped out of the bathroom. He didn’t see or hear me as he was absorbed by the organ. I gently put my hands on his shoulders. Slowly I rubbed circles into his tense muscles. He released a sound halfway between surprise and pleasure. I smoothed my fingers over his back. At my touch his spine tingled and turned. I massaged slowly and careful not to be too rough. I felt his powerful shoulders roll with my movements. I raked my nails lightly on the relaxed muscles. He sighed softly and his fingers were lazily and gently grazing the keys of the organ.   
“Thank you for everything,” I whispered. I planted a delicate kiss to his cheek. I then pranced back to the bathroom and got changed in the pretty light blue dress he had gotten for me. I spun about watching my reflection in the mirror. The skirt swirled around my legs and was the color of the sky.  
“Christine?” Erik asked through the door quietly knocking.  
“Yes?” I called back. I hummed to myself contently.  
“Are you ready?” He awkwardly fumbled. “You have rehearsal, and you are probably missed, and you most likely don’t enjoy it in this cold place, and...and...and...yeah.” I unlocked and opened the door the door. I was nose to nose with a very startled looking phantom. He looked down at my lips then hurriedly back away. I moved along past him then stopped in my tracks. I spun around and held him tightly in a hug.  
“You’ve done so much for me,” I said muffled by his cloak. “Protected and cared for me. I don’t know how to thank or repay you.” He remained silent and slowly allowed himself to hold me in this embrace. He smelled of roses. He felt like home.


End file.
